


You Are My Sickness

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-03
Updated: 2010-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-03 07:23:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8702947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: They both know it's wrong. Whatever happens during the dark hours of the night, they never talk about it in the light of day.





	1. Sickness

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Ooooh, it grows. O.o

  
Author's notes: Since my muse has ran away. I'll just keep annoying ya'll with these short brainfarts. Hee. Basically PWP but the subject is kinda painful so I didn't put it on that category.  


* * *

The tension is so thick in the room that it's almost hard to breathe. Ever since Sam found out about the deal the tension has been there, like a third person following them around where ever they go. And the guilt... It won't leave Sam alone. It won't give him a moment of rest, and why should it? After all it's all Sam's fault.

 

Dean has a year to live. One year, and Sam brought that upon his brother. Sam wishes he died in some place where Dean couldn't find him.

 

When Dean patches him up, Sam can feel every brush of Dean's fingers against his skin. It sends sparkles through his whole body, and he knows, just knows how this is going to end. The tension is too thick, the air hot and humid, and when Dean looks at him... Sam just knows.

 

He also knows that what's about to happen is wrong, but when his brother's mouth crashes against his own, he doesn't care. He feels heat and lust, shame underneath it all. Guilt, desperation and so many feelings he don't even have names for them... All he knows that the year has just began, and that he needs this, needs more than anything...

 

The kiss is violent and Sam can taste blood in his mouth. It's just the way he wants it. Hard, raw and punishing. He doesn't say anything, doesn't ask any questions, just tears his shirt off, then his jeans and boxers until he's naked as the day he was born.

 

He lays down on the bed, on his stomach, face buried into a pillow.

 

Sam keeps his face buried in to the pillow even when Dean climbs on top of him. He doesn't make a sound when Dean pushes inside him, hard and painful, just bites down on the pillowcase and keeps his eyes closed tightly. His eyes water behind the closed eyelids as Dean drives fast and deep, tearing up Sam's body and his soul, but this is how it has to be. The pain. The punishment.

 

Dean's fingers are hard and unforgiving as they dig on Sam's flesh, leaving bruises and making the small capillaries burst just beneath his skin. It hurts, the violent thrusts into his body, merciless fingers violating the tender skin of his hips, but Sam still doesn't make a sound. He breaths hard in to the suffocating pillow but keeps completely still while Dean keeps ravaging his body.

 

Sam can feel the warm wetness inside of him, and he knows Dean hasn't come yet. It's blood, but Sam doesn't care. If Dean asked, Sam would let his brother bleed him dry. The blood eases the way, slicks him up inside, allowing Dean to thrust even faster, even harder. Deeper and deeper until Dean loses the rhythm, his hips stuttering, and his brother's scorching seed fills him up, burning his insides, and still Sam doesn't move, doesn't lift his face from the pillow.

 

But he can't help the small gasp that escapes his lips when Dean's hand finds his hardness and starts jerking, Brutally, demandingly, and there ain't a thing Sam wouldn't give his brother, and he comes with a shudder and a muffled cry. He swallows thickly. Dean is still inside of him and Sam wants him to stay like that forever, though he would never say that out loud.

 

Words don't mean a thing.

 

Sam falls asleep, his body aching and sore, and for some reason the thing that just happened between them makes Sam feel some kind of peace of mind. He sleeps, and for the first time in a very long time he doesn't dream of fire and pain and death.


	2. Down With The Sickness

Sam leans hid head to the window of the Impala, neck tilted a little, chewing bubblegum of all things. The pain -the physical at least- has subsided, making him able to sit in the car for an eight hour drive to wherever they were supposed to go, and ain't that the weirdest thing, that he doesn't even really care. It's just another hunt, another day in their fucked up lives, and Sam just can't find it in him to care. There are more important things than hunting now, but it's so much easier to go on like nothing's changed. The despair of the idea of losing Dean hasn't hit him with full force, and sometimes when he doesn't think about it, he can almost pretend that he didn't die, that Dean didn't make that deal, that Dean isn't going to Hell.

 

But underneath the denial he knows very well that this numbness won't last. The shock will fade away and leave him raw and bloody when he finally has to accept that this is really happening. His brother is going to die. But there is no way Sam will let that happen without a fight. He has no idea where to even begin, but he knows that there has to be something he can do. Some way to save Dean. Right now he just doesn't even want to think about that.

 

Growing up as a hunter has taught him one thing. Physical pain is so much easier to bare than emotional, because physical pain always goes away. No matter how many stitches, bruises and broken ribs, the body always heals eventually. The mind doesn't. Sam is still scarred about losing their father after when he had just found him again, and now he's going to lose his brother too. And that is the kind of pain he simply can't handle. Too many losses, too much emotional pain, and he wants to turn it into physical, and right then he hates the fact that his body has healed because he misses the pain and wants it back.

 

And he knows it will come back.

 

Dean has been extra nice to him, like he's apologizing for what happened, in his own way. Sam wonders if Dean realizes that he is already apologizing for that it's going to happen again, sooner or later, and Sam would prefer sooner. He wonders if they really need to be wired up after near-death experiences to get into that situation again, or if it's enough if Sam just takes his clothes off when they stop for the night, lays down on the bed and bites the pillow. And he hopes it's enough, because he needs to be in pain, needs to be sore. If his body hurts, the emotional agony is slightly easier to ignore. And he needs it.

 

The pain. The punishment.


	3. Pain and Absolution

The way they act in each other's company seems like a pathetic play, a desperate attempt to act normal when nothing is. Not after what happened between them. 

 

Sam has healed, he doesn't hurt anymore, physically, but he needs, _craves_ for that pain because it will numb the mental pain at least for a while. But Sam doesn't think Dean would understand it, even if he tried to explain. So they both keep pretending like nothing has happened, but it's getting harder and harder for Sam. His brother doesn't seem to have a problem with that.

 

So Dean gets them a room like always. Two queens, like always. Grabs the first shower, like always. And pretends to be asleep when Sam comes out of the shower... not like always. When Sam comes out of the bathroom, Dean has practically buried himself inside the sheets and covers, not an inch of skin showing. 

 

Sam doesn't bother to dry his hair. He lets the towel around his waist fall down to the floor and stands there naked, shivering a bit because it's cold in the room.

 

Or maybe it's cold inside of him.

 

He doesn't say anything, doesn't point out that he's well aware that Dean is awake, just sits on his bed and sighs deep before laying down on his back and staring at the ceiling, the neon sign outside painting grotesque patterns on the ceiling that maybe sometimes used to be white, bit is now darkened bu cigarette smoke and humidity damage.

 

Goddammit, he needs Dean, needs to feel his brother on top of him, inside him, everywhere. Why can't Dean understand?

 

Sam turns on his stomach, doesn't bother covering himself with the sheet, just lays there naked and buries his face into the pillow. He can still remember the pain and pleasure that night with Dean brought him. It was like some kind of absolution, a punishment for letting his brother down, and for a moment Sam felt forgive.

 

Now he feels the guilt again, like needles piercing his skin, and he needs to have that absolution again. It's selfish and wrong, but he just can't help it.

 

They don't have much time left, and Sam wants all of Dean, every single thing he can get. All the pain and forgiveness only Dean can give him.

 

The sad thing is, that Dean doesn't seem to feel the same way. Sam buries his face even deeper into the pillow until it's hard to breathe, and he closes his eyes because there is a dam inside of him, and it is about to break. He can't let that happen, not now, not ever.

 

No matter how agonizing the mental pain is, he has to be strong.

 

For Dean.


	4. As Despair Grows

Sam keeps his mind blank, not even noticing the cool air that makes goosebumps rise on his skin. He feels empty, and he knows that the only thing that can fill that emptiness is his brother. He hears Dean getting up, and a flicker of hope fills him.

 

"Scoot, Sammy." Dean says softly but Sam doesn't look at Dean, doesn't move. He is here, ready, all Dean needs to is to take his clothes off, and then take Sam. He knows they both want it, maybe for different reasons but it doesn't matter as long as Sam can feel Dean close to him, inside him.

 

"Come on. Just a little." Dean says softly, his voice cracking a little, and Sam doesn't know why. It sounds like lust, but still somehow not. And when Sam is more than ready to feel the warm weight of his brother's body on top of him, Dean tugs on the blankets instead. Pushing and pulling and managing to free enough of the blanket from under Sam to cover him with it, and Sam wants to scream because this is not what he wants. It's even worse when Dean pets his hair softly, Sam doesn't want that either. He doesn't want Dean to be gentle and caring, he wants Dean to be hard and rough and violent, he wants Dean to tear him to shreds and make him bleed.

 

Because he deserves it.

 

He hears Dean's sigh as the hand pulls away, and then he can hear the soft footsteps that carry his absolution out of reach.

 

Sam buries his face even deeper into the pillow until he really can't breath, but he doesn't care. The guilt is killing him mentally, he might just as well be dead physically. Why won't Dean understand? It's the only way to forget, even for a second, that it's all his fault that Dean is going to die. He needs it.

 

The pain. The punishment.

 

Now more than ever.


	5. The Darkness Awakes

Sam has no idea how he actually managed to fall asleep, but he is aware of Dean's presence even before he is completely awake. The weight that makes the mattress dip slightly behind him, the touch on his belly, Dean's thigh over his hip... it is totally familiar and yet completely alien. It seems like that these days everything is in contradiction, and even when Sam's world has never been black and white, the shades of gray have never seemed this complicated and diverse before. 

 

He keeps his eyes closed. Dean must know that he's awake, they are hunters after all, trained to wake up to the slightest movement in the room, but Sam wants to dwell a little bit longer in this illusion, fantasy, whatever it is, where Dean is there, came here into Sam's bed to finally give him what he needs. Dean's hand is soft against Sam's bare stomach, too soft, and the weight of his brother's thigh on his hip makes him wish that there was nothing between them, not even that thin sheet because the distance it sets in between them feels like the size of Grand Canyon.

 

Finally Sam let's out a shuddering breath. "I need you." He whispers quietly but doesn't move. "You don't understand how much I need you right now. Always. But now more than ever."

 

He hates himself for being this needy, this selfish, when it's his brother who has only few months left to live, but he can't help it.

 

"Why won't you just do it?" Sam asks with a small voice that is filled with sadness and desperation. "Why won't you give us what we both need?" _And what I need even more..._

 

"Please..." Sam whispers, closes his eyes and turns on his stomach so that Dean's thigh slips a little and the sheet moves away, bringing their skins against each other's.

 

"No, Sammy." Dean says softly, too softly. "It's not what you want." Dean's voice is so quiet that it's almost a breath. Sam stays unmoving, something dark and painful twisting in his gut but he doesn't say anything, doesn't even flinch when Dean presses a small kiss onto the curve of his shoulder.

 

And then Dean rolls off the bed, and the light is gone. Just like that the flicker of hope dies and Sam wishes he would die just like it. To go instead of Dean because Dean has to go on, he's strong and skillful and so damn righteous it makes Sam realize how needy and pathetic he himself is. Dean is going to _die_. He doesn't show it but it must be creeping the shit out of him, and Sam feels so fucking bad for making things even harder, and along feeling bad he knows that he's just going to make them worse.

 

Sam wishes he had more power. What use does he have having demon blood in him and having some damn visions when he can't use those powers to take Dean out of his deal, to figure out a solution?

 

Ava said she could control her powers.

 

So did Jake. Right before Sam shot him. Not once. Not twice. It was like when his finger pulled the trigger he was truly alive for the first time in his life.

 

He liked it.

 

Slowly Sam turns onto his side and then sits up, the sheet covering his groin.

 

"Let's go kill something." He says and something dark inside him awakes.


	6. Together Alone

Dean freezes. Sam sees how the wheels turn inside his brother's head, and his voice is incredulous as he finally manages to get something out of his mouth.

 

"Let's go _kill_ something?" A small pause. "No looking for a job, no hunting... but just go _kill_ something? Dude, what the hell?"

 

"Isn't that what we do?" Sam asks, looking up, frowning a little. "A job, a hunt, whatever you wanna call it, it's practically seek and destroy. Slice and dice. No role playing, just..." Sam shrugs. "Killing."

 

"No. Not 'just killing'." Dean actually makes air quotes around the two words. "It's saving people too. Seriously, have you forgotten the most important part?" Dean asks, shoulders slumping, and Sam bites down on his lower lip. Like Dean needs any more worries, and Sam knows very well that this isn't like he usually is, and like always Dean can see right through him, knows that somethings wrong and this time with a capital W because in their lives something is always wrong, but not like this.

 

"Right." Sam says quietly, looking down again. "You're right. Just..." He rubs the spot in between his eyes. "I just need something to do. Getting distracted. Sorry." 

 

He is sorry. Sorry for not being stronger, sorry for being the reason of this misery. And just like that all that 'saving people' loses its meaning. And it's bittersweet to realize that if only he had been in this state of mind back in Cold Oak, he would have killed Jake. Instead he got himself killed. And in the aftermath cast a death sentence upon his brother. How is he supposed to live with that? It's like he can't even die without causing harm. 

 

He has to find a way out of this, has to save Dean. No price is too high. And he has to stop making Dean feel guilty for no reason, or worried, with a possibly very good reason. Strong. That's what he has to be. Stronger than ever, no matter what it takes. The thought is so powerful, so dark, that it would have scared him just few months back, but not anymore. He has nothing to lose but Dean, and if he loses his brother, losing his soul doesn't mean a thing.

 

"You want the first shower?" He asks, trying not to think of how Dean looks like naked, how he feels like naked. His own brother. His own flesh and blood. His secret, his sin. He wants, needs to feel Dean again, feel that he's alive and here, like there was no tomorrow and hellhounds were just a fairytale gone bad.

 

But Dean doesn't let go. "Look... Sam..." He looks like the words could choke him and Sam wishes he would just shut up and take the shower. "I think we need to talk."

 

Sam really doesn't want to talk, but Dean sits down on Sam's bed, a noticeably healthy amount of distance between them. "First of all... I'm sorry." Dean looks away, eyes downcast but Sam stares at him with open expression that hides his frustration and every other emotion he can't even name. 

 

"I'm really, really so fucking sorry you have no fucking idea, man." Dean says, biting his lower lip as his last few words come out choked. He wraps his arms around his chest, tight like he's trying to protect himself. Or keep his heart from hammering out of his chest. Sam sighs deep and a headache starts to form behind his eyes. He doesn't want to talk, Dean clearly doesn't want either but feels obliged to do so, and it's all going to hell in a handbasket.

 

"There's nothing to be sorry for." Sam says and gets up, places his hand on Dean's shoulder and gives it a firm squeeze that has nothing implying in it. Just brothers. "And if you think there is, you're forgiven for whatever it is."

 

His hand rests on Dean's shoulder for a while before he pulls it away, steeling himself, promising that he's going to be the brother Dean needs, not some desperate, nymphomaniac freak like he feels like.

 

"I'll get the first shower then."


	7. Holding On

The water is cold against his skin, like ice shards raining down from heaven, burning away his sins but Sam knows his sins will never get forgiven. There ain't a god who would look through their fingers of who he is, what he is. So why fight it?

 

Because of Dean, of course. Dean is the reason, always has been , always will be. Sam didn't return hunting because of their father. He did it for Dean. His brother who had always been there, always, as far as Sam can remember. Even in Stanford it felt like Dean was watching over him. And when Dean came back, Sam didn't know it was Dean but he knew someone was in the house, and just like that his body moved on autopilot, the first firm grip of his brother again like a tattoo on his skin. He can still feel it.

 

Dean had grown. Sam remembered how he had looked at Dean in awe of how strange it felt, to be that close to Dean, so familiar and yet a complete stranger.

 

Had Dean felt that undefined tension too? Not tension that became from fighting, but the tension Sam had only felt when sparring with Dean?

 

Had that feeling always been there?

 

Sam gets out of the shower, finds his brother laying down on the carpet, and his blood runs cold. The panic inside him makes him unable to move, because the emotions, the feelings he's going through... There was still time left. There was still time!

 

And then Dean opens his mouth and for fuck's sake Sam has never been so happy to hear words 'salt' and 'burn', about Dean finding a simple job, because the words come out of Dean's mouth which means that Dean is not dead, and that the universe hasn't played one sick cosmic prank and yanked few months off the calender.

 

"Fuck..." Sam whispers, goes to Dean and forces him up to a sitting position so that Sam can bring him into his arms. "You scared me." Sam says with a choked voice, holding Dean so tight he feels how his muscles strain. "Don't do that. Just don't."

 

Dean brings his arms up, hugging Sam's wet back slowly. "Dude." Dean laughs a little but Sam isn't smiling. For one short moment he had thought... "I'm right here. And believe me I'll be around till the last possible second to torture your ass." Dean says and Sam closes his eyes. Dean is here. So close, so alive... Thank God, if there is such thing.

 

Dean hugs him even tighter, and Sam holds on. He will hold on to Dean until the last breath, and if he can't find a way to save Dean, he will march to Hell himself to drag his brother back. No demon nor deity can stop him, no one has a right to take away what is his. Because Dean is. And he is Dean's. He doesn't even question that.

 

He feels how Dean presses his lips lightly against Sam's shoulder, and he wants to absorb that touch, take it into himself, take Dean into himself so that nothing can part them, and if the hellhounds come for Dean, they will have to take Sam as well. Sam isn't afraid of Hell, not if it means he can be with Dean.

 

"I wanna come with you..." Sam whispers against Dean's neck, voice full of despair. "And I will. We'll go together."

 

Sam pulls back so that he can look Dean in the eyes. "I am not letting go of you." He says, voice dark and determined. "I'm never, ever letting go."


End file.
